Little Shadow
by inlemoon
Summary: They existed in stolen moments, exchanging truth for companionship, and he never stopped to question why her laugh was so familiar. Ocarina of Time. Link and Sheik/Zelda.
1. Wind

_**A/N**: Welcome to Little Shadow! These are themed **oneshots**, many of which are unabashedly romantic, are generally in order but it'll be noted if they aren't, __**happening to the same Link and Sheik. And yes, in this story, Sheik=Zelda and retains all lady parts. **I have no objections to and often enjoy other interpretations but that's just how this fic is gonna roll. _

_A history: This is a story that started as a oneshot and got expanded upon, and then I got challenged to turn it into a 100-theme fanfic. I tend to write along themed lines anyway so I figured hey, why the hell not? And w__hat's the **Variations** part? Well, sometimes I like a theme enough to write another oneshot on it. So that's a Variation. It's a music reference, too. :)_

_If you follow **Ordona Pumpkins,** it's actually quite similar to that._

_Reviews vastly appreciated! You'll even get a shoutout in the next author's note! It'll make you feel famous!_

* * *

She wanted to tell him he was beautiful.

When the stale air of the Temple of Time suddenly buzzed, when the orange-tiger sun striped through the black clouds blotting the sky, when he descended like a god on a blue column of swaying light, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to rip off her mask and strip the enchantments away and throw herself at his feet, begging for forgiveness. When he was green and golden and _right there_ in front of her, so gloriously _alive_ and the foretold bearer of that legendary blade, she wanted to tell him. It was the most enthralling moment of her life, that odd hanging second where she first witnessed the birth of the Hero of Time, swinging from his Sacred Realm womb to her aching clock-tuned arms. He turned the war to her favor, but turned so much _more_ within her soul_._

Her heart hammered against her chest. Her stomach twisted into a billion knots. And she _knew_.

She didn't tell him.

When stench bloomed so thickly over Castle Town and he cut his path through Redeads and no stars shone from the suffocating sky, she followed him. She shadowed him and was so entranced by every motion, she nearly got herself killed. He destroyed seven years of Sheikah training and an entirely _lifetime_ of royal stoicism simply by the way he moved.

She stopped and stared regardless, too enraptured by hope to tear her eyes away.

She followed him from afar, protected him. She circled him and cut down so many Stalfos, so many monsters in the night that awoke thirsting for his blood. One day soon, he would grow skilled, but for now he was new and gangling. He'd learn—she believed it with a ferocity she long thought dead—but he needed help. She'd kill _herself_ if it saved him.

When he called for her the first time, she was there. He was sleeping and didn't realize he was screaming; already haunted by nightmares he had yet to live. She dropped from the shadows and stroked his hair until he rested easy once more. The air was chilly but he was _warm; _her fingers burned until they nearly boiled off her hands, her hot, sporadic breath puffing from her lungs. His fairy hovered at eye-level, flitted to Sheik's shoulder and burrowed in the wrappings, tiny dots of enchanted dust sparkling in her wake. They sat in profundity for quite some time, quiet and glowing under the bombazine sky.

The next morning, she watched him rise. And so she found her purpose, so began her vocation, to come when he called for her. So she became his little shadow. He'd never know the eye with which she watched, the feet on which she followed, silent and padded with concern.

_Did something happen in the night?_ he asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

_Only a shadow on the wind,_ the fairy replied. Sheik did not mind her answer. But how she wanted so much more.


	2. Ease

_A companion piece of Wind, Var. 1, Link's perspective. Have you ever met a person, who just seemed inevitable?_

* * *

There was an ease to loving Sheik, running like a brook that surged its way into a river, somehow wearing away whatever jagged-rock betrayal she hid below her mask. It was beyond Link to pinpoint why. It was just a simple sense of inevitability, a breed of precious joy he'd known very little of before. He gave her respect she did nothing to earn, but somehow never stopped to question why he let this clothbound stranger do such things to him.

It was the same sort of ease he'd had with the princess, long ago; a flowing balm pouring into the gaps of his childhood, that soothed away the loneliness he'd long thought endless. They'd shared such a connection, something innocent and kind and silly, something bubbling colors in those succulent spring gardens the Castle once boasted. She liked masks because they made her laugh; he liked her smile because it was hers. He'd bring her costumed lies to wear and she'd pluck him from his shyness and in the tiny pockets of that huge gray castle, they'd play.

It was the first time he ever belonged.

He could never quite say why, but when the air of the Temple of Time hazed yellow and gray and speckled with glittering dust, when Sheik slid forward with lyre slung to hip and so stalking and so deadly-calm, he _knew_ she was important. When she spoke, her words ticked one after the next, more like the needle of a clock than a voice. But even as the Master Sword screamed its way from the sheath, he listened.

_I've been waiting for you, Hero of Time._

Later, when he'd think on it, he'd liken the moment to baby birds hatching from their eggs, unsure of who hatched first or who imprinted whom. He flicked his fledgling wings and poked his head from his sleeping-shell; she burst from the nest of gray-dove shadows, wet eyes lidded and talons dripping ichor.

_As I see you standing there..._

He knew he should run. But he called her "_lover_" and felt, _somewhere_, that this person was inevitable. And he knew he had a choice, but also knew which path he'd walk. So, he walked it. She followed him outside and swept her hand through the decay-drenched air, as he gazed across the shambles of Castle Town.

_This is Hyrule, Link._

In _this _land, he had no masked princesses or rainbow gardens or luscious skies. But taped fingers laced into the gaps of his now-adult hands, always holding a little too tight, a little too hard. Once, he told her that. She responded that he was overthinking it. He didn't believe her and wasn't sure if he should promise to never leave, or to never leave _again_. And couldn't begin to say why he felt such a thing.

There was a wildness to her that sang of a killer. She was a vassal of the princess, and Link suspected Sheik knew the other well—perhaps even as friends. Yet there was nothing innocent or kind or silly about her and the only color she bubbled was the red of blood. He wondered what she'd lived these last years, to know such carnage. Something always stopped him from asking. But it did not stop him from other questions, and when he couldn't take it anymore, he cracked.

_Where is she? _He didn't have to clarify who.

_She hides, and watches, and waits, _Sheik said easily, deflecting as always.

_But what if I die, and never find her?_ he pressed.

_But what if you live, and do? Do you know what you will say?_

Link did not answer for many moments. But when he did, he was sure.

_I will tell her, _he said suddenly, and Sheik's head lifted slowly from his chest, _that I am grateful she has given me..._you_._

He could feel the ease of the way Sheik brushed the question off, when she told him he was overthinking it. But she liked masks, he'd long learned—or perhaps just the one. She liked them because she was a liar; he liked what she masked because it was hers. Someone taught him that long ago. So he'd bring her truth to wear and her hands would pluck songs across his soul and in the tiny pockets of the shadow, they'd play.


	3. Fortress

It started simply enough. Earlier torrential rainfall had blown away the awning on Impa's house, soaking the firewood and rendering it useless. Blankets provided some warmth but Sheik and Link had to cover themselves completely, throwing them over their heads; it was under those covers the idea was born.

Much to Link's surprise, Sheik seemed enthused, even running up the stairs to find more blankets. Beds were stripped of sheet and quilt, even decorative sham and pillowcase. Link scaled the windows to pull down the heavy curtains, as Sheik flipped chairs and dragged the dining room table, all to serve as the anchors. Heavy books and Sheik's whip cords kept everything in place and even Navi could admit—the massive blanket fortress was a spectacular sight to behold.

And now, Sheik was laughing so hard, she had to clutch her stomach to breathe. Link's fingers exploited the ticklish spot behind her knees and left her writhing and red-faced on the floor. She pounced up and pinned him mercilessly, fingers seeking his own sensitive skin, reducing him to little more than a tearful, tortured, tickled mess.

For many moments, they crawled and shoved about, thick blankets blocking out the light so well, Sheik felt comfortable enough to drop her mask. And once she did, the atmosphere changed.

"_Kiss me_," she breathed over and over, and again and again Link obliged. He'd kiss her until their lips and bodies swelled with blood, and Navi (perched on the bookshelf and quite warm in her little _uncorked_ bottle) would shrilly remind them that someone else was in the room, that she didn't mind kisses but she'd make them _regret it_ if they got too naughty. Neither Hylian nor Sheikah could say exactly how such a small creature would make them regret it, but they respected her, pulling back and keeping hands in chaste places…for a few minutes, anyway, until Navi would yell in exasperation once again.

After she trilled so loudly it made their ears ring, Link peeked out.

"You aren't even in here! How do you know we're _doing_ anything?" he asked irritably, and the fairy scoffed.

"When the children are too quiet, that's when I know something is wrong." She fluttered from her bottle and flicked his nose with her wing. "You have hickeys all over your neck and it's gross."

"You should see _her_ neck!"

"_HEY_!" Sheik called from under the blankets, and Link grinned.

"What!? It's true! You're covered!"

"_Just get back under here…_and we'll be good, Navi. I promise!"

And so they kissed and romped and rolled until they were so warm, it seemed the world could never be cold again. Eventually, when things settled down and Navi _finally_ guessed the password (peahat), they let her into their blanket-nest. Sheik pulled her mask back up, too worried about the light from the fairy's wings, and it made her shed a tear, quiet and dripping and soaking into the cloth. But when Link saw, he wrapped her up and told her she was beautiful just like that, so she let it fade away. His hands brushed through her hair and Navi danced on her fingers, bouncing from tip-to-tip and giggling with a chime, and in that moment, all three would agree. It was warm and right and good; and there they fell asleep.

Until Impa came home, anyway, and made them put it all back. But they didn't mind.


	4. If

_About damned time we hopped on the romance train._

* * *

The curve of his cheek is delicate, and you run a taped finger across the bone. There are weeping burns that will surely scar, but you don't think it makes him less handsome. You think it looks good, a tiny symbol of a much larger sacrifice. You move to his lip, noticing for the first time that the top is a little fuller than the bottom. And you wonder why you hadn't noticed before.

He curls into your touch and his eyes flutter open, and you marvel at the brightness of the blue. He'd recognized you, knew you'd be here, that you'd tend the wounds he'd earned from the dragon. They cover him and he'd probably be dead, except you saved him. He'd given all of his strength to kill Volvagia, throwing himself to the fires, knowing you'd be there afterwards. He's come to expect you, really, that you'll show up just when he needs you the most.

You're the hero that saves the Hero, the shadow he retreats within. You're his escape from a world that's killed his childhood and burned him alive, the lovehis hands reach for when they've nothing else to grasp. You are unsung in thistale and they'll never know your name, never know what you are to him, never know how much he needs you.

You want nothing more than to kiss him, to press your lips to his and claim them for yourself, but you'd have to take off your wraps. And if you take off your wraps, he'll have to close his eyes, and you've decided they're too blue to ever shut again.

The logic of this love is unfair, you decide. It's unfair that you must exchange eyes for lips and lips for eyes, that you must barter one for the other, never able to have both as _normal_ lovers do. Yearning floods your chest and you vow that if he _ever_ sees your face, you'll never close your eyes, not even to blink. You think it must be the most intimate thing in the world, to look and touch and kiss and connect all at once.

And maybe one day he'll be able to laugh at you, poke fun at you, because you never shut them, too enraptured to look away. Maybe one day you'll be able to take advantage of the things other lovers carelessly throw to the dark. Maybe one day you'll be able to forget how connected you truly are, to fall into arguments and petty fights, to scream bloody hellhounds onto the other, to slam doors and throw vases and storm into the night. Maybe one day you'll have other lover's luxuries but for now, you only have stolen moments when he lays half-dead in your arms. Stolen moments where you must exchange lips for eyes, or eyes for lips, where you must bargain away the truth for camaraderie and lies for who you are inside.

But for now, your connections to him are broken, pieces of a prophecy scattered across temples and sages and barren lands once lush with life. You can only give him little things, little isolated moments dropped along the trail of his quest. Your hands, they give him song. Your voice, it gives him guidance. Your eyes give him lies, so many blood-red lies, when he clings to you as he does now. And they give him despair-filled truth of the waste laid to your kingdom, the truth he fights so hard to banish. The truth that leaves him bloody and half-broken, sprawled across your lap, as the potions take effect.

Your skin, it gives him pleasure, sometimes. It gives him a place to rest, and he fits into you so perfectly, you can feel and hear and know everything inside. In the dark, when you kiss him, when you can see him and he cannot see you, you almost pretend that he _knows_. When his hands press fists into your palms, his forehead lays flush to yours, his eyes clench shut and his body rocks so _slowly_ within, you only wish he'll open them. Because when he opens them you can almost pretend he's looking right into yours, that he's kissing you and watching you all at once, that you are the kind of lovers love was created to serve.

At this moment, you don't kiss him. Your fingers touch his hair, dirty and matted and a little smelly. His fairy rests on your shoulder and she doesn't seem to mind you there, watching over him, covering him with the darkness of your shadow. It cloaks him from those who will kill him, heals him until he must emerge to the light again.

And you know that your love is not the sort of love that's meant to be. It is woven with lies and deceit and it will come crashing down. You don't know how something that feels so pure can look so filthy, how something dying before it blossoms can be so beautiful, how something so based on deception can be so _true_.

_ If only_, you think as you trace your hand along his scarred collarbone, _if only._

The shroud of pain begins to lift from his eyes, and you know the potions are working. He remained stocked up, at least, and you can picture how he must have stumbled from the dragon's lair, fumbling for the bottle, struggling to pull the cork with his teeth and collapsing right where he knew you'd find him.

Suddenly, he pulls you down and presses his lips to the cloth. You move on instinct, shifting your hands to cradle both cheeks, pressing further down onto his mouth. Perhaps if you kiss hard enough, the disguise will disappear. Perhaps if you kiss hard enough, these wraps will melt away, and you'll feel the skin-on-skin touch of his lips. You'll kiss him until you and he are both swollen with need, you'll stare straight into his eyes when he makes love to you, and he'll look right back. And _when_ he looks back, he'll never look away. And maybe you'll be the one to tease him for never closing his eyes, the one to be so careless with the sacredness of love.

But there are layers of linen between you and he, and layers of lies even thicker. So your lips do not touch skin and your eyes slide shut in retribution. They close out everything but the pressure of his kiss, until you feel him slacken in your quiet embrace. He's falling asleep, the excruciating pain slowly leaving his body, murmuring something about a pack of gear.

You locate the bedroll he'd dumped outside of the crater, where he knew you'd find it, where he'd planned for his own rescue. And as you ease him in, pulling extra potion out and instructing his fairy to make sure he drinks, you become unraveled, too. Your hand brushes his face once more and you wish for nothing more than to curl into his side, unmasked and free to bask within his light.

You coil into your thoughts instead. They're intense, the fast tears rolling through you. _Oh gods,_ you can't help but think as they wash across your face, _if only_. And as you leave him there to rest, and pull away from his cheek as he shifts about the pillow, it is the only thing your mind can process. _If only. If only._


	5. Wishes

_FYI: I'm sort of following the manga, where Volvagia was Link's pet/friend, and he gets pretty messed up after having to kill him. So he hangs around Goron City for awhile, partly to heal his physical wounds and partly to heal his mental ones, too. That's where the last two installments take place. __I mean, the timeline in the story doesn't exactly matter, these are more just kinda oneshots happening to the same two dorks. So, yeah. __During this time, Sheik pops in and out to check on him(being some little BAMF double agent in the meantime)._

* * *

Slender bronzed fingers moved smoothly across the cords, calluses and bandages be damned, and she didn't have to look down to play her song. Sheik knew the strings by heart, and wondered if wherever he was, he'd hear, or if he'd even want to listen. Last time he listened, he'd killed a friend, and almost wound up dead. But he did it for her—well, _Zelda_, anyway. But Sheik knew, deep within the songs they played, that he'd do it all again. So would she. Their duets were always beautiful, even when they lied.

And when his thick fingers, twisted with muscles down to the nail, would move across that little blue flute, she couldn't help but wonder if he truly liked the instrument. He seemed to prefer the winds to the brass, but she could almost imagine him playing the baritone with those full lips, that lovely embouchure, far more suited to make mournful low tones creep through the sweet, black dark. Instead, he played his ocarina, light and lilting, so much like that lapis-eyed girl in a bright pink bonnet, the girl who once had been his friend, who had given him a new song to play. The girl that existed no longer and might never exist again.

When Zelda was a child, she had a wishing jar, which sparkled when the light hit it just right. Impa placed it on the mantle and every night, the tiny plump-cheeked princess would write her wishes in elegant purple ink, and drop them in the bowl. Her nursemaid would pluck one out while she slept and the next day, it might come true, from flowers planted in the rich earth to a new leather-bound book. Until one day she wished to '_Help_ _Link to save Hryule_.' Impa did not make that wish come true, letting it sink to the bottom of the other papers and staring pointedly out the window. What else was she to do? It wasn't her duty to bear, much as she would have taken up the mantle. That yoke was weighed for another shadow and Zelda learned to be careful with her wants.

Sheik's wishes were not paper, but plucked across the lyre, bell-glass notes shattering through the silence of the night. Stars twinkled, and she was sure that they were closer to her than Link, even as they cursedly led her Hero into the depths of hell for her, just for her— well, _Zelda_, anyway. And though she didn't have to, Sheik looked down, watched her tanned fingers dance, and realized she hadn't seen her own skin in seven years.

Her fingers changed tact to a different tune, a sharper, sadder song that Link would have never recognized. The notes plucked through the air, fast and quick, until they were _so_ fast and _so_ quick they sounded less like music and more like buzzing wings. Sheik nearly threw her lyre out of the tree, thinking to the last time they met.

* * *

_ She'd shown up at night, as usual, to see how he was faring. He'd killed the dragon and saved the mountain, and the Gorons were all too happy to accommodate him while he recovered. But his wounds were gone after this last month (potions healing those on the surface, fairies healing the deep bruises and burns within), and Zora's Domain wasn't going to thaw itself. _

_ Sheik reminded him of this, doing her damnest not to glower above as he curled further into his huge velvet chair._

"_How many more friends will I have to kill, Sheik?" he hissed when she prodded again, a bit too deeply, glaring up defiantly with those burning blue eyes._

"_Hopefully none, Hero. All that remain are monsters—"_

"_You said Volvagia was a monster. He wasn't, I know he wasn't, he had goodness in his heart still and I _killed_ him, Sheik— I still have his blood on my clothes." He looked so childlike, so devastated; Sheik could not help but extend a hesitant hand, running a taped thumb from forehead down to chin._

"_I believe you."_

_He blinked in owlish disbelief._

"_Yes, I believe you. I also believe that Ganondorf twisted him, and I believe his slaughter was justified." Link made a strangled noise of protest and Sheik tipped his head up, staring straight into his eyes. She let him see the crimson of her own, let them burn wide open, as brightly as his. "But I believe that he was good. I believe that he cared for you. If he hadn't cared, he would not have remembered. He did not die a monster. You gave him something more, all those years ago." _

_Pause._

"_You gave _all_ of us something more, all those years ago." _

_A strangled sob broke from Link and Sheik leaned forward. Arms encircled him as his forehead tilted down and pressed into her belly. She sat and pulled him to her lap, like a mother and child, letting his tears spill onto her clothes. As she rocked him back and forth, she wondered if anyone ever held him like this before. _

_ "I'm so sorry," she whispered later, long after he'd fallen asleep in her arms. They were so warm, tucked up into the other, snuggled together under thick blankets. "I love you."_

_ He responded with a light snore against her breast. _

* * *

Something sparkling and blue flitted in front of her closed lids and Sheik tried to pretend she wasn't crying. Her fingers had long quit moving across the strings and now, she wept to herself, perched too high in a tree where no one could find her.

"_Sheik?!_"

_Oh, no._

Except Link, and his damnable fairy, _did_ find her. For there he was, standing below, looking up with those deep, deep eyes that cut through all the branches and leaves. Navi landed lightly on her head and Sheik berated herself for letting him sneak up on her (for _once_).

"I was looking for you! One of the Gorons said you were in the city, and I heard you when you started playing that last song…what _was_ it? It was so sad and angry."

_Not a song you need to know_, she almost snapped, but stared down with a burning gaze instead. He returned it, forever unfazed by her glaring.

He looked good, from what she could see. Scars had healed over, bruises were mostly gone, and he was standing upright again. It'd taken nearly three solid months of healing. One for his body, the other two…._well, heroes have wishes too_, Sheik thought, and another sob caught in her throat.

He began to climb the tree, babbling on. Panic rose through her chest and came out as a muffled moan.

"The Gorons want to hold a celebration, but I said only if you would come— are you _crying_?" he asked incredulously, pressing his hand to her temple once he reached eye-level, warm palm making her cheek grow hotter.

"Sheik, why are you crying? Are you okay? Did something happen?" Navi bobbed wildly in worry. The little sprite was annoying but _gods_, when something Link cared about was hurting, she got upset. "Why are you crying? Why are you hidden up here in a damned tree?"

"Because I can't go. I can't stay. I lost my wishes in the jar," she sputtered, and Link pulled her in reflexively, so tight. He didn't question her nonsensical jabbering. Tanned fingers clutched red tunic, while he stroked along her bandage cap, loosening a few strands of tightly-coiled flaxen hair.

"We'll find your wishes," he soothed, leaning back as she stretched into his arms. "If I know anything about you, I know they aren't too far away."

"You know _nothing_ about me," she whispered, but she knew it was a lie.

Carefully, he shifted behind her, and held her. The chill of the wind ripped through both of them but neither said a word. And after a few moments, he gently placed her lyre back into her hands, before plucking his ocarina from the satchel on his waist.

"Let's play something. It'll make you feel better."

"I—"

"C'mon, Sheik. Our duets are always beautiful."

_Yes. Yes, they are. _

Sheik hesitantly moved her fingers into place, and began to play. And slender bronzed fingers moved across the cords, calluses and bandages be damned, as they sang their wishes deep into the night.

* * *

_Should I have named this chapter "Velveeta" instead? It's possible. The world will never know. _


	6. Wind, Var 1

_Hey there! Have some flirtatious af Shink fluff_

_Cuz reasons_

* * *

The air was just beginning to lose its warmth, and Link was determined to preserve it.

"I'd like to learn about your weapons," he announced to the very wind around them, watching his little shadow re-braid her flaxen hair. He stretched his bare arms over his head, not bothering to readjust the sheets when they slipped from his naked hips. He looked down and was rather amused to see his abdomen and thighs peppered in red lip-marks. "You know. Your knives and needles, your little bombs and such."

"Oh?" Mirthful crimson eyes darted over a slim shoulder, and Link couldn't help his rakish grin.

"Mmmm. All so sneaky, hidden in…_places_. Places I'd like to _discover_." Thin blonde eyebrows arched, and Sheik turned from the mirror. She'd already dressed, wrapped in her layers and so many blades Link had long lost count. Eyes lidded in a smirk, she padded over silently. Link watched her golden braid switch to and fro, quite similar to a cat's tail, and didn't break gaze when she gently kneeled on the mattress. A taped hand lay on his eyes and he caught the tiniest glimpse of her dropped cowl, before she dipped to a sweet, slow kiss.

Link growled when her tongue parted his mouth, planting his hands on her hips, and pulled her in closer. His was fumbling to remove her slacks within seconds, but she firmly grasped his wrists and pushed them off. Her slender lips moved against his as she spoke.

"It takes a lot of work to get into these clothes, you know."

"Yes, and that is precisely why you should _never_ wear them."

She actually _giggled_— an odd, lilting sound that made Link's heart skip a few beats, for _whatever_ reason— and flicked her teeth across a few of the welts on his throat. He barked and pushed his hips into hers, making it _obvious_ where he wanted this to lead, but she only snickered again.

"I have to _go_, Hero," she chimed, grazing teeth sending frizzles down his entire body, "And I must wear my clothes. I can hardly gallivant around Hyrule naked."

The unbidden image of Sheik slaying enemies in naught but that warm, honeyed skin flashed across his mind's eye, and his stomach flopped.

"I see absolutely _no_ problem with that. You can even keep your veils on, if you'd prefer."

She responded by dipping her tongue into the loop of his earring. Link snarled, snaking his strong hands up her tight shirt, relishing the hiss she let out when they pressed against her breasts, trying to finger his way into her bindings. He'd _just_ found skin when something very sharp bit into his fingertip.

"_OW!_ You have a blade in there?!_"_

"Six, actually."

"That is absolute _overkill_, who is gonna touch you there besides me…?" He pulled his hand out and sucked on the bleeding cut.

Sheik huffed into his neck and pulled away, bringing her wraps back up.

"Did you not wish for a lesson?" she sassed, eyeing him when he offered his injury and pouted. _What, does he expect me to kiss it?_ Some big, brave Hero of Time he was.

She stood and walked to the window, ignoring the low keens coming from the bed. If it were up to Link, they'd spend their entire lives eating, sleeping, and rutting on the mattress. Or on tables. Or desks. Or tree stumps. Or hidden in the back of Lon Lon's milk carts whenever Malon made deliveries to Kakariko.

She slid the glass open, sighing when a wisp of chilly air pieced her cowl and cooled her flushed cheeks. It was cold out, and it was so tempting to just _stay_ for once—

"Do you hide them in your panties, too?" he asked immaturely, snapping her out of her thoughts. He was still sucking his fingertip and looked utterly destitute.

"….no."

"I don't believe you. I bet you have at least _ten_ daggers in there."

Tanned lips curved into an unseen smile.

"You missed the point, Hero. I don't _wear_ panties."

Oh, he went positively _crimson_ at that, right up to the tips of his long ears. He kicked his legs free from the tangled sheets and coasted towards her.

"…and now I'd _really_ like to learn about your weapons," he breathed, obviously intent on making her stay. But Sheik was already halfway out the room.

"A lesson perhaps, next time we meet. I will see you again." She slung herself through the windowsill, out of reach. A tense moment hung between them and their eyes met, as they always did, both wondering if more should be said and what exactly _more_ could entail. It was a bit of a contest, really, a sparring match that always ended in a draw.

"You can always use the door, you know," he bid finally, resigned and exasperated. With that, Sheik was gone in a flash.

Link stood there for several long moments before moving to shut out the cold. She'd stayed a few hours, quickly tipping him to the brink of pleasure (he did the same for her as well), before lying down for a short nap. But he would have liked for her to spend the night. He didn't often have the luxury of an inn or an actual _bed_ and it would have been nice if she could have warmed it.

Not to mention, his hands still smelled like her cinnamon skin and his lips still ached from her kisses, and he was having certain..._difficulties_.

As he slowly slid the glass closed, he muttered in frustration, his mind hazy with the thought of her. He didn't understand why she had to leave so urgently. He didn't understand so _many_ things about her. Maybe that was why he loved her.

"But loving a damned shadow is colder than loving the damned wind," he finally concluded, looking out into the dark of Kakariko, speaking loudly to no one in particular.

"Yet the wind and the shadow are best of friends," a voice quipped, and he yelped when a cackling Sheik dropped back into his vision, smirking away.

"For the wind carries unspoken words to the shadow, tickles her ears with declarations of emotions…like _love_," she continued as he jerked the pane back open with hopeful eyes. _Her_ eyes, alluring and upside-down and glittering like rubies, stared straight into his. Even through her wraps, Link could tell she was boasting a huge smile. "You said it first. I win."

"I thought you were gone! That is so unfair!"

"Life isn't fair, Hero!" And then she detached from the sill like some kind of spider, those bejeweled garnet eyes and that golden braid flying into the night. _Away_ from him. He leaned out the window, staring into the inky night...

_POP!_

…until one of her tiny explosives went off right below, and he almost fell naked into the grass.

"That's _not_ what I meant by a weapons lesson!"

He was met with silence. She was long gone and she wouldn't be coming back. Not tonight, at least.

He leaned out the window again, trying to find her, acutely aware of how cold the rest of the night would be. The slightest aroma of cinnamon, the same scent as her yellow hair, drifted on the wind. But he might have imagined it.


	7. Apoplectic

_A story! A plot! Things happening! __This theme gave me conniption fits. And some might notice a slight nod to FMA in some of the dialogue. I've been rewatching it lately. No worries if you don't, though! _

_An enormous shout-out to **vaegtersang** for beta-ing this. + 100,000,000 cool points for you!_

* * *

"He's….at the bar with the red door." Navi's tiny voice rang in her ear, and Sheik groaned internally. "Just don't get too mad at him, okay? He didn't know when he went in."

"Then why did he come here?"

"One of the shop owners recommended the pumpkin soup. Said it was the best in town. You know how he loves pumpkin soup, Sheik…"

Sheik groaned again, out loud this time. She strode quickly down the dark alleyway, illuminated only by the occasional splotch of light from a tavern window and the glow from the anxious ball of blue nestled into her turban. Link was lost in Kakariko's tiny but ever-growing red-light district. A few of the places had fantastic cuisine; the tavern in question was one of them. Sheik had been there before on assignment. And she was all too aware of what she would see inside.

She _should _have waited and tamped down her anger, _should _have made sure she was thinking of something other than the lecture she would give Link when she saw him, but there wasn't time. She slammed the door open against the wall and froze; before she even stopped to think her needles were unsheathed.

"Oh sweet Din _above—_"

Link was perched on a barstool, surrounded by soup bowls and empty shot glasses and mugs once likely filled with ale. His hat was slung carelessly on the countertop and the top of his tunic was unlaced. His cheeks and nose were flushed pink and his eyes were glassy blue. He was slurring some bawdy song to the barmaid, a teal-eyed redhead with a greedy gaze and _infuriatingly _large breasts. She had a prissy sort of beauty, probably appealing to the rougher patrons as someone pure of appearance but decidedly _impure _of body.

Now, prostitutes did not _upset _Sheik. She thought the occupation distasteful and open to corruption, but lewdly honest. Perhaps she'd lived too long in the wicked darkness of what Hyrule had become, but she'd witnessed much worse than consenting adults making money from sex. It rarely intersected with her interests and as long as people kept to themselves, she did the same.

But now, it was interfering. This girl was far too willing to submit to the drunken affections of this handsome blonde swordsman. _Sheik's _handsome blond swordsman, her charge and champion, and the girl would be cut to pieces if she even _tried _to lay a hand on him.

She flinched when the girl began to sing, thinking that a knife to the eardrum would probably offer less pain, and couldn't help but wonder where his preoccupation with redheads stemmed from. But when he murmured something quietly and the girl quit her song, flashing a naughty grin before plopping her foot onto the bar, furious realization began to bubble in Sheik's belly. And as a pale hand slowly slid up a milky thigh, parting petticoats and garters to reveal a patch of copper curls to the entire bar, she lost it.

The spray of her needles flew across the room. Glasses splattered, and every single eye turned to the apoplectic Sheikah warrior stomping through the doorway. By the time she'd walked over and grabbed the back of his shirt, she'd already imagined exactly how many shades of red his blood would paint the wall.

_I'm going to kill him. Murder him. Slowly. Painfully. Congratulations, Sheik, you just doomed Hyrule to everlasting darkness because you fell in love with the man-child you are tasked with protecting and serving. Who has no obligation to love you in return._

"That Zora clothing will not prevent you from drowning in alcohol," she hissed, fixing her crimson glare on the fearless barmaid, "or filthy skirts." The girl initially looked shocked at the sudden spray of metal, but now she looked _interested_.

Of course, Link was oblivious to the entire situation.

"_SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIK! EEEY EVERYBADDY! THIS IS SHEIK OF THE SHEIKAH_!" Everyone stayed silent and Sheik was happy for this; until the beer-wench finally spoke.

"So this is your friend, eh? A handsome Sheikah, full of tales of mystery-"

"Actually, Sheik is a girl! A GIRL! She has girl parts-n-everything—!"

"Shut your mouth before I slit your throat," Sheik snapped as she jostled him off the barstool, now livid that her male disguise had been revealed so quickly. It was something he'd picked up on almost right away, but most people were not that observant. Now, everyone in the bar knew, and everyone would have questions. But Link was ignorant of her anger, choosing to hang pathetically from her biceps rather than _shut his damn mouth_.

"And _this_—!" he said it with such exaggeration, it would have been almost cute had it not been so infuriating—"Is….uh….the barmaid. She serves drinks and soup! And….stuff," he concluded, deflating quickly under those piercing carmine eyes.

"Yes, you were very interested in that…'_stuff_,' weren't you?" she bit out, unable to stop herself.

Link hung his head and ducked his eyes, turning away.

"Not really…"

The redhead laughed.

"As _if_. Need I remind you of the naughty little questions you were asking—"

"They were not naughty!" he said indignantly, the last word so slurred it sounded more like _'naurry_.' "I really was just curious…"

"Right," she responded, green eyes drifting over to Sheik, clearly appraising the other as if she didn't quite believe Link's claim of "girl parts." Obviously intent on making Sheik feel like the most undesirable creature in all the lands, the maiden crossed those white arms under her abundant chest, pushing it up further. Not that such actions would ever bother Sheik. _Never_.

"Well," the girl finally drawled, as Link grappled for Sheik's shoulders but overshot and gripped a fistful of bandaged hair instead, "would your friend like anything to drink?"

"N-no," Sheik said as she stumbled to keep Link upright, awfully close to falling as she attempted to extricate her now-loose braid from his grasp. "But a room, if you have one available—that is my _hair_, you drunken buffoon!"

"Oh, I've got one available for him, but for you—"

Sheik's eye twitched.

"You will gather no coin from him tonight, or _ever_," she hissed, fixing the girl with the deadliest glare she could muster.

"Why should we make room for you? You aren't paying any of the girls, and you ruined half of our glassware and terrified our customers. Besides, your virginal little friend there seemed to have different ideas—"

"He's _not _a virgin!" Sheik yelled, eyes widening in terror before she'd even finished speaking. She was at a loss to explain why she was so unhinged, so defensive over such matters, when clearly the most important thing was getting Link out of here.

"And are you his lover, Sheikah? I've heard many tales of heartbreak among your kind, of how your light-lovers forsake you for the warmth of day…"

Sheik probably would have leapt over the counter and killed the girl in cold blood, but Link managed to find his way to the floor, taking a mortified and livid Sheikah along. When she tried to stand, he grabbed a calf and nearly caused her to face-plant on the countertop.

"He's drunk," Sheik managed to choke out, but the girl laughed outright.

"He's not as drunk as he thinks he is. He'll remember this, come morning." She flipped one of the shot glasses around. "What claim do you have on him? A girl's gotta make a living and I don't see a ring on that ugly finger of yours—"

"Did you miss the knives flying across the room?!" Sheik snarled."Do you realize what I can _do to you_?!" Link attempted to stand again, absently throwing his arm up...and his hand landed in a _very _inappropriate area.

"THAT. IS. _ENOUGH_!"

A booted foot rose and made contact with his chest, pinning him down with force still far gentler than deserved, and he finally, _blessedly_, quit his groping. Unfortunately, the damage was already done, and the other patrons were whispering to the barmaid.

_I wouldn't mess with that Sheikah. When they claim someone for their bed, they do not share kindly. Why don't you spend the night with me instead? I'll treat that little cunt right. No, come give me some of that, love….._

Sheik turned back to the barmaid, shifting her foot off of the stilled Hero. With much effort, she hauled him up and leaned him against the countertop, ignoring his suddenly intent stare.

"Let us lodge in the storehouse, then. I shall pay your nightly price and we shall be gone in the morning." The barmaid nodded slowly, but looked unhappy. "Come, Link, let us…oh!"

Air suddenly rushed into her nose and hit her lips as gloved hands yanked her mask down. She slapped a panicked hand to her cheek. Her face—her _entire _face—was exposed to the bar. Fury and terror frothed in her throat but before she could say a word, before she could even _think _a word, a sloppy, liquor-soaked mouth pressed against her own.

She wrenched him away, stunned into quivering silence. Link had never pushed her in this way before. On the contrary, he'd told her many times that if she didn't want to show her face, he wouldn't ask. He respected her desire to stay hidden. And logically, he probably wouldn't recognize her. The enchantments changed more than her coloring; it induced slight variations to bone structure and eye shape, among other subtleties. Still, Zelda was there and always would be. It was simply not worth the risk, no matter the ferocious longings in her heart.

And as he stroked her cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs, that longing swelled viciously until it threatened to burst her chest wide open.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered in childlike awe, and it was only the smell of spirits on his breath that dragged her to reality. His face screwed up slightly. "Though you do remind me of someone…"

_Oh no. _

"You say he'll remember in the morning?" Sheik asked the barmaid hurriedly, and the other girl raised an eyebrow.

"Why, yes, _Miss _Sheik of the Sheikah."

Sheik ignored the mocking emphasis, grimly admitting to herself what had to be done.

It didn't mean she wanted to do it.

Slowly, she dipped her head and allowed him one more kiss, a painfully sweet thing despite the spiced taste of rum, before turning back to the wench.

"We'll be needing those drinks, then," she said resignedly, pulling up her mask and plopping a wallet on the countertop. The girl had the nerve to laugh, and poured another round.

* * *

"Link….stand…_up_ ….."

Link was heavy for his lithe form; he was the perfect balance of strength and speed, with looks almost as glorious as function. But carrying that gorgeous body was like carrying a sack full of bricks—meaning, damned near impossible.

In retrospect, this was not her best idea.

_Wisdom should be leaving at any moment now,_ she thought, chiding herself yet again for her earlier panic. I_ am such a fantastic guide. He'll surely survive all of his trials with my influence. Sheik, survivor of the Sheikah. Leading Farore's Chosen to inebriated disaster. Has a certain ring to it. _

After learning of Sheik and the Hero's affair, Impa bluntly informed her of all the consequences of her actions. That falling in love could be beautiful, but it led to recklessness. And if she was too careless, it could ruin any chance of regaining the throne. How she must offer firm guidance, but never interfere; and if he worked himself into a horrible but survivable situation, Sheik should not come calling.

As she attempted to lug him to the storehouse, she wondered if she should have left him to his own devices. He would have wound up in that prostitute's bed, undoubtedly. He might have left with an empty wallet, but he would have survived.

And that was the nasty truth, wasn't it? He didn't need her to bail him out this time. He wasn't gravely injured from battle or even screaming in the middle of the night. He got drunk and nearly slept with a hooker, something perfectly common for a man of his age. She showed up because of jealousy. No other reason. And Sheik had to admit exactly how right Impa had been.

"Need some help there, Miss Sheikah?"

_Oh, how wonderful._

"No," she hissed, cursing herself for letting the barmaid sneak up on her, "I've got him…ugh, _Link_! Stand up!"

The girl rolled her eyes and marched over anyway, putting one hand under his armpit and hauling him up to his feet.

"It isn't much further."

Together, they shuffled forward, and Sheik begrudgingly admitted it was easier with two people.

"You seem quite experienced at doing this…" she said without thinking, and the girl gave a noncommittal _'eh_.'

It took tremendous effort, but the duo eventually managed to get the drunken Hero to the storehouse, shoving him into a pile of blankets. Sheik tried not to think about what happened within those blankets and instead leaned against the door, resting her forehead on the frame. The barmaid cocked her head at the sight of them, and Sheik swore she saw a smile ghosting those full lips.

"Water comes from the pump. It tastes coppery, but you'll get over it." The wench paused, smoothing a ruffle on her skirt. "I haven't seen one of your kind in some time. I hear you live far out in the desert, even past the Valley."

Sheik stared. That was not common knowledge among Hyruleans.

_Now how does she know that?_

But something tickled the corners of Sheik's mind and she took a good look at the barwoman's red hair, the peculiar shape and shade of her eyes. Bold, slanted irises in the oddest shade of green, light and streaked with yellow. It finally dawned on Sheik when the girl turned to the side and she got a glimpse of that profile. Not as long as most of the desert women, but prominent and regal all the same.

"You are Gerudo."

"I was wondering when those famed Sheikah eyes would finally see," the girl laughed, shaking her head. "Only half. And if one of them heard me claiming that, I'd be slaughtered on the spot."

Sheik tilted her head a bit, suddenly curious despite her reservations. "I thought that mixed bloods were always welcome?"

"They are, but I betrayed them. I barely made it alive to Kakariko and even then, I remain here…" She trailed off, hiking up her skirt and pulling a golden flask from a laced garter. Glittering stones were embedded in the metal and something told Sheik is was no cheap trinket. "If you want the story, share a drink."

Sheik blanched.

"Come now, you're curious, and you aren't going anywhere for the night." She nodded to Link, who was snoring loudly with a small trail of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. "Even when he wakes up, it's going to be a rough morning."

"He deserves it," Sheik muttered icily, but slid down the door frame. The barmaid joined her, sitting cross-legged and taking a swig from the flask.

"I was twelve when Ganondorf left the fortress and invaded. After the kingdom fell, I moved to the castle. His rule there was even worse than it was in the Valley, but he still understood that he needed some supporters. So a pale-skinned, half-Hyrulean girl in the castle looked good, I suppose. And he lavished upon us."

Sheik nodded; in the several times she'd reported directly to Ganondorf, she could recall the other individuals of the castle, and how well they were treated. The servants were always clean-clothed and well-fed, even allowed to wear fine jewelry. His wives were swathed in riches and perfumes, bedecked in enormous baubles that screamed their rarity. And as long as they remained faithful, their King would provide. It was a twisted sort of thing, how those who surrendered their freedom could find such safety and comfort, even luxury.

"Why did you leave?" Sheik asked, turning the story over in her mind.

"He killed my sister when she refused to be his bride. He killed a lot of women before he found one. And when he tried to add me to his harem instead, I ran. I fled to Kakariko but when I got here…" she took another swig, handing it over to Sheik, who took it reluctantly but didn't drink, "…there was nothing to find. Oh, there were always people willing to offer shelter or a hot meal. But I wanted more—"

"So you became a prostitute," Sheik finished, "You still wanted your treasures and your silks and spices." She tugged her mask down slightly and took a sniff, before drawing long from the flask. The whiskey pleasantly burned its warm way down her belly.

"You say it like you're insulting me. You aren't."

"How do you sleep at night, selling your body in such a way?"

"You mean when I do sleep? Why, on a down-filled pillow. And perhaps my freedom comes at a cost, but it's better than being chained like a dog. What about you, Sheikah?" Her tone became taunting. "Where do dogs sleep at night?"

Sheik nearly threw the flask back in her face.

"I'm not a—"

"Oh, yes you are. You are a servant of the Royal Family. Why else would you be in Hyrule?" She gestured to Link. "Don't think we haven't all heard the rumors, or watched the smoke clear from the mountain. I'm no fool. He's the prophesied Hero, isn't he?"

Sheik said nothing, slowly sliding her needles out. She did not want to add this girl to her list of kills, but she would if forced.

The barmaid only waved a hand and shrugged at the display.

"I have no interest in betraying you. If I showed my face, I'd be killed instantly. I didn't guess until you showed up, anyway. He was just another kid. But when I saw those red eyes, I _knew_. Dogs never stray far from their masters. Didn't expect that you'd be his lover, though. You aren't so different," she said slyly, a tiny smile creeping its way across her face, "You sell your body, too. At least _I_ get pretty things for mine."

"It _is _different," Sheik hissed, hackles rising, "We don't do it out of selfishness. And we don't use sex as a means to an end."

The girl barked out a laugh.

"You think yourselves so respectable, don't you? Yes, you do use sex. At least among the Gerudo, our marriages are chosen out of love. Ganondorf besmirched the customs, but before him joining the king's harem was always a choice. But your nobles sell their daughters like prized bitches—even your exiled Princess! What if she'd never been thrown out of the kingdom? She'd be sold off in political marriage at sixteen. And no matter how smart or kind or talented she would be, how fair a ruler—she'd be reduced to whatever comes out of her cunt. She could be crowned queen, bring Hyrule into another Golden Age…and her greatest achievement would _still _be her litter."

Sheik grew impossibly still.

"And _you_. You sell your body and soul to protect his. I bet you'd kill a thousand men if it preserved his goodness, his worthiness for that sword.. And you are his _lover_? A hero in love will fight so much harder than a hero with no cause, and I know that Sheikah are _never _to fall for their charges—"

"You know nothing!" Sheik roared, and her hand flew out, making sharp contact with the girl's cheek. The slap rang through the air.

Red eyes clashed with green. Sheik strangely thought of the color wheels the art instructor from her youth would pull out, those two shades on opposite sides of the diagram, and how they stood out so starkly against the other. And for a long moment, the only noise was Link's incessant snuffling.

"Stay the night," the barmaid finally said, slow and poisonous. "But never come back. And never forget just where dogs sleep." She extended a hand and tugged on Sheik's mask, then traced a burning finger down her cheekbone. "Even the prettiest of the breeds."

She stood up abruptly.

"Make sure he succeeds."

With that, the barmaid retreated into the night, leaving the Sheikah in a seething heap. Sheik flipped the flask open and downed the rest, barely remembering to bring her cowl back up before collapsing at Link's side.

A few hours later, drunk and awake and staring out the cobwebbed window, she realized she'd never asked the barmaid's name. She was unsure of why it mattered so very much.

_You'll win this and if it makes me a dog, I don't care. I will always watch over you…_

* * *

"_Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggghhhhhh…_"

"Feeling better, Hero?" Sheik asked irritably as she rolled over, ignoring the throbbing in her own head to tend to him.

"I think I feel worse…wait, when did _you _show up?"

"Your fairy came to fetch me," she said simply, unwrapping a bandage from her wrist and wetting it. She'd risen a few hours earlier to fill a bucket with water. "When you got so drunk you could barely stand."

Link sighed as the cool wraps pressed to his forehead, and he looked up pathetically.

"My head hurts…"

"Don't look at me like that. You deserve your suffering." She padded the cloth down his cheeks. "You are lucky I was nearby."

"It seems like you're always nearby."

"I'm not," she said shortly, but looked doubtful. "I'm not, and you could have gotten yourself into serious trouble." She pressed her free hand against his cheek and he nestled into her touch, obviously intent on sleeping more. She sighed in frustration.

"Link, you need to listen to me."

"I am listening, you aren't giving me a choice."

"You're going to fall asleep."

"No, I'm just listening with my eyes closed."

"…if you fall asleep, I'll beat you up."

"Oh, really? You wouldn't win."

Thin golden eyebrows shot up. "Yet, you can barely walk."

"Yeah, but..." Suddenly, he pulled her into his arms, clamping down tightly and not letting her go, no matter how hard she tried to wriggle away. Resigned, she huffed and cuddled into his chest.

"See, I already won," he murmured into her hair. "I'm glad you're here."

"I won't always be."

"Right. Let's just go to sleep, Sheik. Just sleep here."

"But..."

"Sleep here, okay?"

"If you wish," she huffed. She supposed she'd never put up much of a fight. Sunlight streamed through the window, and the quiet drum of his heart reverberated steadily in her ear.


	8. Water

_Blah blah blatant fangirl moment blah blah_

* * *

Sheik tipped the bottle, letting the oil pool in her palms, before running bronzed fingers over her collarbone. Her hand trailed down to her small breast and massaged, eyes sliding shut in bliss; Link couldn't help but lick his lips when she groaned a little. It was probably nothing of sexual pleasure and everything of sensitivity—binding her breasts so tightly left them almost _delicate_ when she let them free—but that didn't matter. The motions were tantalizing.

"You seem to enjoy that stuff," he said tightly, trying to bring his eyes back up to her face and failing spectacularly. Steam drifted from the surface of the hot spring, hazily blurring his vision until she was the only thing he could see, and the orange moon bathed her in a pretty light that made her look golden-skinned, a few shades darker than her hair.

Earlier that day, they'd stumbled upon an open market, nestled within a huge ravine of rocks. It was run by rebel Gerudo and Sheik suspected it to be protected by the fairy magic of a nearby forest so they cautiously entered, keeping their precious items close by lest they get stolen and resold.

What was supposed to be a quick visit turned into a daylong escapade, resulting in empty wallets. Still, it'd been fun. Link was charmed by its large selection of weaponry (particularly the colorfully-fletched arrows at the archery cart), and Sheik was charmed by its overall quaintness, quietly murmuring she hadn't realized such places still existed in these dark times. And she began to wander aimlessly, hands reaching out as if desperate to touch it all with her fingertips.

But what really got Link was when Sheik disappeared into a sumptuous, pink-swathed tent, fragrance drifting from the entrance as she opened the flap. At first, he thought it was a fortune teller, but nearly burst with laughter when he read the frilly cloth flyer hanging from the entrance. It was a beauty shop, host to handmade bath products, earrings, scarves, and other baubles. He followed her in and _did _laugh when a group of tittering women surged out soon after; whether because a Sheikah or a man entered, Link would never know for sure.

All he knew was how longingly she looked at some of the wares, and he felt a surge of pity for her. Sheik wasn't very feminine, but he'd long suspected she had a few girly predilections beyond her collection of ornately-decorated shuriken. Apparently, smell-good products were one of those predilections. She gently touched the tops of the tiny colorful jars and wistfully grazed her fingers over the scarves, pausing on a cream-colored wrap embroidered with pale blue vines along the edge.

He halfway expected her to buy it, but instead she turned abruptly and left, pointedly ignoring his entertained look as she breezed by. She mentioned going look at the knives (how_ surprising_) and didn't wait for him.

Well, what else would he do but turn around and buy her the nicest he could afford? He got her sparkling bottles of aromatic oil for her hair and skin, shampoo and bars of soaps, all of various scents he thought might mingle nicely with her natural fragrance. He wrapped it all in that embroidered scarf (because of course he got that, too) and tied it with a ribbon of yellow silk. The ribbon was the same shade as her hair and he thought she might be able to wear it under her cap, and perhaps weave the understated scarf into her other wraps.

She was mortified when he presented her with her gifts, and refused them for over an hour. Link stubbornly told her he wasn't bringing it all back and it wouldn't do _him_ much good to smell like a grapefruit. Sheik retorted that it didn't do her much good, either; that she couldn't exactly go around wearing ribbons and perfume, because she had a _male disguise_, _for Nayru's sake._ Finally, a frustrated Link opened the scarf and uncorked a bottle, shoving it under her nose until she took a begrudging sniff, and finally relented.

Now, as she rubbed the oil into the skin of her backside, running her hands up and down the swells of muscle for _entirely_ too long, he couldn't help but wonder if this entire thing was revenge. So he wanted to dote on his lover for once. She should just accept it. She didn't have to be an absolute tease about it.

But then again, Sheik never just _accepted_ these sorts of gifts, and Link wondered if she'd ever received such things before. She did not keep many luxuries, save for her golden lyre. Her knives were of exceptional quality but that was more a matter of function than personal pleasure. She lived very humbly and though Link admired her for the way she found simple joys, never asking for more than survival, it got old after awhile. He never had the chance to do things for her. She never even took his offered hand to mount Epona, often walking alongside instead. She was frustrating.

Her hands slid over her chest again and she stretched languidly, and he had to swallow a groan. It was pointless to deny it; he could only hope she didn't look his way. He sank under the water a bit more.

Yeah, _very_ frustrating.

At least she was happy now that she'd let herself go, in her own quiet way. She'd lathered herself up with the shampoos, untangling that mass of blonde hair, luxuriating in the warmth of the hot spring. She'd soaped every inch of her body, absolutely _lavishing_ on herself, and scrubbed the grime from her fingernails and the dirt from her skin. She'd even dipped away, maskless, to wash her face, before using her new scarf as her covering. Link could tell she was utterly content. This did nothing for _his _growing problem beneath the water, but he was glad to see her relax. She really did look ethereal in the light of the moon.

"I should thank you," she said softly, and peered at him over her shoulder, through her wet hair. "I haven't had a moment like this in a very long time."

"Well, you didn't make it very easy, to be honest. But I'll give you a thousand moments like this if you like them so much."

She chuckled softly. The way her hand traced over her lean hipbone was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

"They wouldn't be so special, if they were so common, I think. Besides," she added, sharp eyes sparkling, "You couldn't afford to do this that often."

"Eh, someone always needs their grass cut. And if nothing else, I can always break into houses and slaughter their pottery collection."

"You will pay for my luxuries with pottery blood-money. Well, you certainly know how to charm a girl, Hero."

"Hey, it would be a last resort. I'd definitely stick to the grass first." He shifted and tried not to shudder at the sensation the water made when it lapped across his body. _Stoic, calm, collected, Link….you are not aroused, you are simply in a state of heightened sensitivity in your crotch region. Which is the literal definition of arousal but that's not the _point_…_

"Why don't you come over here, Hero? I have some more soaps, you know. I think one even smells like vanilla bean." She said it casually, and Link swallowed hard. Her gaze flicked down. "And you're rather dirty."

"Am _not_," he muttered, but moved through the water anyway, hyper-aware of the burgeoning blush in his cheeks, spreading down through his torso.

Her hands shot out and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him flush to her lithe body, and there was absolutely no hiding the last _hour_ _of_ _torture_ she'd put him through. But rather than making some sarcastic remark, she simply held him. Hugged him tight, nuzzled her face into his neck, and kissed his shoulder through the cloth.

"It's okay," he whispered, not sure why _she _was the one who needed comfort when he was the one clearly dying. But it felt like the right thing to say, and she pulled him tighter for several silent moments. Eventually, she pulled away, and grabbed a bar of soap.

"You really _are_ dirty, you know," she said, lathering it into her palms and sliding them across his skin. He couldn't help but whine; it was gentle but firm and so _warm_.

She pulled his hair out of its ponytail, her fingers massaging sore spots on his scalp as she washed out the grit. She moved down slowly, stretching his neck and arms before gently tugging on his fingers, then soaped up his back and chest. He held her as tight as he could while letting her do what she pleased. It was sensual, and intimate, and his head thrummed from the slippery feel of her skin again his. She cupped warm water in her hands and poured it over him, soap sliding off until he was clean. And then she stilled, resting her hands on his chest as trails of bubbles swirled around them.

"So," he ventured, pulse knocking hard in his neck, "What do we do now?"

She gently dragged her hand over his eyes to shut them, and draped her scarf over the top half of his face, knotting it in place. Then she kissed him, and did not pull away for a very, very long time.

* * *

_a/n: Shoutout to **vaegtersang** for his beta talents. thanks, V._


	9. Promise

_IT'S ZELINK WEEK ON TUMBLR. WHICH MEANS A MULTITUDE OF SHEIK/LINK WHICH MEANS Y'ALL MIGHT BE GETTING AN UPDATE EVERY DAY THIS WEEK._

_Anyway, here's the first prompt—Promise. And yes, I blatantly went Professor Snape at the end. To those who've followed this fic, thanks so much! And to those who reviewed— **WinterWolfie**: Thank you soooo much for your reviews and following! **Schniedragon88**: yep, QW and I know each other. You've got good taste. Thanks so much for the review! I definitely wanted to draw those parallels between the two, shows how Sheik/Zelda is the same as when they were children and now. **CountryRoads504: **haha thank you. And what can I say, I push the envelope._

_Three little drabbles. Tomorrow's prompt is much more involved. This was edited for rating, fyi. Y'all know where to find the non-edited one. _

* * *

Link convinced Sheik to take him drinking. He was genuinely curious, and liked the taste of porch-brewed blueberry moonshine,so they bought two jars and galloped far out into the fields. And there they drank and talked in the told her he missed Saria. She told him she missed her mother, too. And then they talked about the peculiarity of giant glowbugs, how Sheikah eyes were scary but beautiful at the same time, sort of like fist-sized insects that could fly and make light because that was really weird and scary if you thought about it but also very beautiful. Like red eyes.

It made more sense when they were drunk. She promised him they'd do it again sometime.

* * *

Link let her hold the Master Sword, even though she never asked. But he saw her curiosity and so he sat down behind her, laying the sheath on her lap, and laughed a little at the goosebumps on her neck.

_It won't hurt me?_ She asked, quietly incredulous that he would dare to toy with such a predetermined power.

_I promise she won't,_he said, unsure of why he always called his blade a girl. He pulled it out with a _shink_ and he lifted Sheik's hand, pressing her palm to the grassrope hilt. The sword quivered at first, unsure, but he kept his fingers interlocked, and the familiar thrum of white magic shivered up their arms. Familiar to him, anyway; she'd never felt such a purely beautiful thing before.

_It's wonderful,_ she murmured, running a taped finger along the sharp blade. Link had to agree, but he wasn't thinking about the sword.

* * *

Sheik had to leave, and she always would, never able to stay for longer than a few days. It was the price he paid for choosing a light-loving shadow, the pain of bedding with a ghost, that she'd inevitably slip back into the darkness when it called her home. Sometimes he was almostsure he imagined her. But this time, eyes burning down the disappearing curve of her spine as she went through her ritual of wrappings and hidden blades, and later on the switch of her braid as she walked away, he finally spoke up.

_Promise me you'll come back,_ he said right before the door closed shut. She hovered.

_Always,_ she told him, and slid into the night.


	10. Smile

The wind howls cold through the trees — bark blackened and ossified, pimpled under the growth of a glaucous-and-purple fungus neither of them have ever seen before — and not so much as a twig moves. Sheik's hair alone blows free and thrashes about, strips of rough white cloth still knotted into her scalp. It's thick and matted and so long it dips below her waist. She hasn't cut it in seven years, she says, and Link is certain she hasn't combed it in all that time, either. He has a fascination with the sunny color, holds the snarls between his fingers and murmurs that there's silver and white buried in all the yellow. He presses his lips to the tangles and grins when she pushes forward, dead leaves crunching beneath her boots like splintered bones, flustered because no one's ever looked so closely.

She pauses after a few paces, pulls her hair from his grasp and twists it in her own, anxiously; nods to the ground in front of them. Whatever she's looking at, he doesn't see it: there's nothing there but fallen leaves. She nods again. _Look closer. _

_Oh_. Tiny black-bridal-veil mushrooms spring up from the pile, eerie and netted and utterly different than the white ones he'd eaten as a child.

_There is life here_, he offers.

_No,_ Sheik says slowly, recoiling; _these consume death. They were never here before._

_Before_? he wonders, as he covers the hand in her hair with his and they wind the knots between their palms, silver sparkling subtly in the little light coming from the canopy. _What before? _His arm circles around her waist and he nuzzles into her from behind, pulling her lithe body flush to his, perching his chin on her head as she still stares at the ground.

When she settles against his chest, the moment heightens, the question forgotten along with whatever explanation she was about to give. And his dirty hand is curling around the edge of one side of her mask as she leans in imperceptibly, and he's leaping over some unspoken barrier they'd long deemed sacred. But she breaks it before she's got the chance to think, the reflex even faster than the way she could slide knives into his flesh if he got too close, though of course she'd never choose such a horrible thing.

_I don't believe you, _he says slowly, _there's always life. _

_Look for it. _

She shakes her head and pulls far away, but sucks in a ragged breath and extends an arm. He can tell she's skeptical as a thin yellow magic streams from her palm and swirls the ground, until the tiniest of hidden seeds stirs to blossom forth into a golden flower, swaying and almost too heavy for its stalk.

It's a gift of the earth, an offering, a show of the wood's forbidden life; it's a risk for her to show such magic, far less could attract the attention of the witch who holds these trees, but Sheik's eyes fly open and the light _spills_, like frantic cascading sunbeams on the forest floor. It's exquisite, Link can tell, but his eyes stay on her face, on the arch of brow and the white and silver of eyelashes, on the only parts of her he's allowed to touch and everything she's bearing of what lies beneath.

Below the flowers, the ground stirs, and their gazes turn as needles flick across her fingers and the Master Sword pulls halfway out of its sheath. But it's only a Keaton kitten; wait, _no_—one, two, three, and four—disturbed from winter slumber beneath the leaves and each so _mad_ at such a rude interruption. They chirp and squeak and circle feet and legs, their triple tails puffed to full capacity. Link tells them he's sorry and touches each tiny yellow head with a tender pat, but Sheik stays quiet, staring at their innocence with same intensity she'd turn on him when she thought that he was sleeping. And at her silence, he hungers for her laughter with an ache he's never known before.

_There _is_ life here,_ she agrees finally, and curls her palms shut.

The Keatons leave, disappear into the brush. Sheik moves to continue their march, but he pulls hard on her arm, rooting her in place. His fingers brush her hair, still free and soft with seven years of tangles blowing in the breeze, each knot bumping heavy on his fingertips. He stoops down and plucks a flower, tucks it behind her ear, and kisses the slope of her forehead. She startles into a smile so wide, he can see it behind her mask; and when she turns again, it's slower, and doesn't pull so far ahead.

* * *

_Reviews are beautiful! :)_


	11. Rescue

You sit in the meadow of the Great Deku tree, the first thing you ever failed to save, the thing that drove you to find Zelda. You think on this as Sheik's dulcet laugher sings through the air the way a fairy's wings chime, and you're the quiet one for once, watching as she braids the hair of the girls of your tribe.

Her laugh is beautiful, you decide, probably the most beautiful part about her. Except that would be an injustice to her eyes, or that wonderful thicket of golden hair, or the expanse of soft copper skin she bears to you when she wants to be vulnerable. Not that she's ever _really_ vulnerable; even when her knives rest on the nightstand, her fingers could pinpoint kill spots on your body faster than you could say her name. You roll your eyes at the thought, and smile widely.

She reminds you of another, she always does, in the way she straightens her back and looks around in playful haughtiness when Mido asks her to dance. She must be a Sheikah of high rank in her tribe, the way she acts so _royal _sometimes. But she's unlike any royal you've ever met before, one that digs down on your level and bleeds alongside you, though you're sure Zelda would have done the same had she been allowed.

And there it was again, the comparison. The Sheikah that stands before you, to the ivory-skinned girl with big blue eyes even brighter than your own. _That_ girl had a smile like sunshine and a laugh like a breeze and wore a bright pink bonnet. You grin a little at the memory, how you used to call her _Princess Bunny_, because that's exactly what she looked like when she sat among her courtyard flowers, rosy and new and as vibrant as the forest you'd once called home.

One time, you even brought her a bunny hood mask of her very own, and the two of you ran frantic circles about the castle perimeter until Impa grabbed you by the collar and kicked you out. But _only_ after Zelda called you her Hero, and planted a chaste kiss right on your lips before bidding you farewell.

_I believe in you! You'll rescue us all._

She was unlike any girl you'd ever known before.

And so is Sheik, and you wonder if you just have a thing for the world's oddities. Because though Sheik is a woman, not a girl, she's _also _unlike any woman you've known before. Her hips are slim and her breasts are nearly flat and she's more muscle and edge than any kind of curve. She's so unlike lush-bodied Malon, the only other to ever really draw your eye, and so unlike Zelda, or whatever you imagine Zelda must be like now, now that she's grown and no longer a little child.

You think on this as you watch Sheik stand and take Mido's tiny hand, letting him lead and even attempt a dip. And you can't help but wonder at all the ways she's so beautifully weird.

And you know she's lying to you about something deep and secret, but it _enthralls _you. It giddies your mind when she's away, gives you a challenge when she's near, pushes you harder because you know, far down in the deepest parts of yourself, that one day you'll be good enough to see her face. That it's your reward for when you win, that she'll lay all her secrets bare. And you know it's childish but it's so damn _fun _and hey, don't you get to hang onto one little bit of childhood, anyway? Besides, there's more to it than that, and you'll _never _stop fighting—you've already failed to rescue a girl you once knew, and you aren't going to fail the love of your life again.

And because of this, as Sheik stands on her tiptoes to touch each of the children's fairies as they swirl about her head, you_still _think of that little girl, and the way she stood on her tiptoes to spy upon her father.

And your lips open before you think better of it.

_The way you stand on your toes,_ you say, r_eminds me of the first time I met Zelda. The way she spied on her father, craning her head back and forth, just like you're doing now. You're a lot like her, you know._

Sheik snaps from her happiness, and you slam your mouth shut. She doesn't like to talk about Zelda. But she turns to look at you and she doesn't chastise, like you expect. Instead, she's filled with sorrow, as if the comparison stabs her in the soul.

_If only_, she says quietly, and you wonder why she's always so fond of those words, _if only that were true._

Her statement is so honest and confusing and it's a strange display for her but this entire trip to Kokiri Woods has been such, so you don't question it. Instead, you take her hand and pull her to your lap.

_I don't know what you've seen, but… _you begin, not sure why this is the right thing to say but knowing that it is, _You don't have to hurt anymore. I'll protect you, always. You should trust that._

_I do,_ she whispers thickly, burying her masked face in your neck and gripping your hair in her fingers, _that's not the…oh…my lonely little hero. It's been foretold, the things you'll lose to rescue me._

You don't understand her words; surely, you've never heard such a prophecy before. Maybe she was just speaking in her poetry, like she always likes to do. And you aren't lonely now, she's here and warm and _yours_, your shadow, your Sheikah, your protector, your lover. Does she mean the future? But why wouldn't you have her then, too?

You wish to ask, but you don't. Instead, you're silent, and sit with her in the meadow of the Deku Tree until it's far into the night, when the children have gone back to their homes and the woods are cloaked in dark. The sounds of fairies drift from far away and she falls asleep in your lap, and you stretch her out beside you. You lie down and you fall into sleep, too; but the words ring in your head well into the morning. You don't know why they haunt you.

_If only,_ Zelda's voice says in your dreams, _if only._


	12. Stars

_Short one. Will get a Variation in the future. _

* * *

Link has always loved Sheik when she is declawed of knife and her skin pulls and stretches beneath his hands like silk. But he's always loved her more when she smiles her hidden smiles, the ones not masked just by cloth but by breast and rib and blood, when there's very little to look at but so very much to see.

Tonight, he loves her even more than that. They rest in the fields where his head spins happy, and all he sees is the point of her fingers to the silver speckles up above as she shows him the Hunter and the Great Dog, the Twins and the Sisters.

_What do the Sheikah say of the stars? _he asks.

_We say that stars unite souls, both strange and known,_ _for someone else far away is looking up and seeing the same. _

_Well,_ Link says, _do you look at the stars and feel near, when I am far away?_

_Yes, _Sheik hums,and her hands seem to brush the constellations like raindust brushing lips on hot summer days. _Would you like to see the Lovers?_

_Yeah, _Link answers, _where are they?_

She pounces, dips rock-a-bye lips to his and they kiss luscious lullabies and popped-tongue fairytales until they've risen to become the stars scribbled across the heavens, until their names are carved into the bark of night-tree sky and those looking up in distant lands wonder, _now just who are _they_?_

And it's then, he finds, he loves her most of all.


	13. Absence

_"Rescue" got a redux, so I'd suggest going read over it again, if you wish. Thanks to all who have reviewed/favorited. I'll give y'all a shoutout in one of the next chaps. :)_

* * *

These absences are the worst because they make Sheik think of what they will become. She doesn't think of her own set future but she thinks of _his_, of what he'll be after all this is done. He'll never be a king, she thinks with a frown, he just isn't made for that. He could be knighted, but knighthood seems too far below everything he's done already. Perhaps castle-life isn't right for him at all.

He'd make a good blacksmith, maybe—he knows enough of swords to perhaps take up the skill. Or an arrow carver, with his own shooting range; or a rancher, and he'd bring milk to the Castle every week, just so he could see her. Maybe he'd be a musician, he's got enough talent in his hands and lips, and she'd go to every concert.

"You'll be my favorite one," she says softly to the night, as crickets rasp and a frog croaks in agreement.

She's never held a hand like his, calloused and worn, yet soft and loving. It fits perfectly into her own slim fingers, and he's forever fiddling with the tape. And he laughs when he brings her hands to his lips, kisses all ten fingertips with a gentle mouth. They always burn after, like she's dipped them in the liquid golden sun, and she can feel it _now_ even three days after she's left his side.

As Sheik walks through the fields, the graveyards of the monsters he's slayed for _her_—no longer for Zelda, but for _her_, Sheik of the Sheikah, she thinks wryly—she looks at the patches of wildflowers, lilac and yellow, sweetly swaying in the spearmint wind. She drops her cowl and presses a kiss to her fingers; they do not burn golden but she kisses them all the same, as though her lips were his, soft and kinder than she'd ever be to herself, pale or tanned, blue or red. She throws that kiss into the heavens, knowing it will find his cheek; and strums along her lyre, knowing it will find his ears wherever he may sleep.


	14. Blade

_Takes place earlier than the other fics. Pushes the T-rating with some "hands-on" moments._

* * *

_Splatter._

There were days Link would construct dummies in the fields, topping them with the fruit of wild winter squash vines growing along the outer walls of Lon Lon Ranch. He'd slice and hack and thrust his sword into them, and by the end of his "battles" would be covered in seeds and rind. And there were days he did this in the rain, when the weather was gray and soothing, when the water drip-dropped down his ears and pooled into his palms, when – after he had stabbed his blade into the dirt, after he had fallen to his knees – he would tip his head back and drink.

He always remembered Sheik's voice in those moments, from the first time she caught him in his practice. She'd chastised him for being reckless and for not resting or eating or finding shelter, before informing him of all the ways he might get sick if he stayed in such weather. Yet behind her sternness he'd _almost _sensed affection, hidden behind the purposeful distance. Something small, but important enough to drive her back to his side, ever watchful. _You need more practice with your sword_, she snapped at him when he told her this, avoiding the subject entirely.

Well, of _course _he did, he still tripped over his too-big feet and often didn't recognize his own voice when he spoke. So _let_ her call it _reckless _to spar with a pumpkin in the rain, or that that he could hurt himself and the kingdom couldn't be saved by a one-handed hero. He would do as he he could admit, part of him wished to be trained by her quicksilver feet rather than a now-disemboweled gourd on the ground.

_Some blades are not metal,_ he thought as he loaded another pumpkin onto the dummy, nearly slipping out of his hands as the rain picked up, _but they stab all the same._ He began to slice and slash again, becoming so wrapped up in "_fight_" he didn't notice the pair of crimson eyes appearing from the shadow until Navi chimed in alarm.

_Splatter._

He swiveled his gaze up, wiping the squash strings from his face. Sheik was crouched on a tree branch, staring down. The way her eyes unflinchingly bored through the sheet of silver water sent a shiver down his back.

"You aren't a bird, you know," he bit out, and she vaulted down in an elegant arc, feet silent on the ground as she approached him.

"You've improved," she remarked, ignoring his jibe, gaze flicking up and down at the mortal remains of the squash-dummy clinging to his clothes. "…albeit very messily."

"Yeah, well, it seems to have worked good enough—"

"Well," she corrected absently, "_Well_ enough."

"Well, then. _Well _enough. It's not like I have anyone to—" Her blade was at his neck before he finished. _She smells like cinnamon,_ he thought as the edge bit in, his breath hitching for a reason he couldn't quite identify. Her face drew so close their noses touched, cloth-to-skin, and his head suddenly buzzed.

"Fancy knife there," he whispered, referring to the beaded charm attached to the hilt. It was difficult to see completely, but it looked like it had green feathers, too.

The corner of her eye crinkled.

"You were about to say you've no one to help you," she said slowly, softly, pressing down gently until the skin nicked open, the rain washing the blood into his tunic collar. "So I shall. Let us spar."

"You know, for someone so previously concerned with me getting sick, putting a knife to my neck and _cutting me open _is very…odd." He pulled away and pressed his fingers to the mark; thankfully, it was already beginning to clot. By the time he'd picked up his sword, she was crouched in position. "What are you, a vampire?"

"Yes," she said, and he was certain her eyebrow twitched.

"Haha."

"…"

"Wait. You're kidding right?"

"…"

"…"

"Sheik….?"

"It's why Sheikah only come out in shadow and rain. The sunlight kills us. Our eyes fill red with the blood of our victims. "

"I…"

"Of _course _I'm not a vampire, Link!" she said, and he couldn't tell if she was exasperated or amused.

"So you're just the friendly neighborhood assassin, come to make sure how the kingdom's hero is doing…challenge him to a friendly duel? Well, Navi and me are just fine, thank you."

"Navi and _I_, Hero."

He glared. "…you seem to enjoy correcting my Hyrulean."

"You seem to enjoy butchering it," Sheik retorted, eye rolling. She crossed her arms. "Do you even know how to _read_, Hero?"

"Actually, not very well. I'm from the _forest_, Sheik. The language is different. Navi had to teach me Hyrulean, and I didn't exactly have a lot of _time _to adjust to it. Isn't that right, Navi?" The fairy just sighed and mumbled that the weather was too foul to get involved in his "stupid argument," and that she was going hide in a tree until the rain stopped or the argument cleared up or he got himself into trouble, whichever came first.

Sheik watched the sprite fly off with an amused look, before settling back into position. "Two out of three, I do think."

Link grabbed his shield.

"Let's go, then."

There was a cloud of needles clattering against the front of his shield before he had the chance to assume his stance. He ducked when that feathered kunai whizzed past his ear and barely managed to parry her shortsword when it flew into his face.

"How do you move so _fast_?" he said through gritted teeth, her face inches away from his as their blades sparked. Her footwork was gorgeous, fluid, had musicality he could only dream of; he felt like he was being led in a water-dance rather than a battle. Air pumped and wheezed from his lungs and they moved perfectly against the other, blades sizzling and sparking despite the rain.

And then he was slammed onto his back, the smell of damp leaves flooding his nostrils, and there was a Sheikah straddling his chest. Her knees pushed into his palms painfully as she leaned forward, eyes half-lidded and voice dangerously low.

"Do you yield?" she growled as he wriggled against her weight, unable to buck her off. He struggled like this for several moments before resigning, and couldn't quite convince himself that his pounding pulse and lack of air were solely due to sparring.

"Yield," he whispered, fascinated with the contrast of her pale eyebrows to her tanned skin. He dropped his gaze down further, to thick lashes dewed with crystal raindrops, to what seemed to be an elegant slope of nose behind her wraps…

And then suddenly he was hyper-aware of the shortness of her breath, the pressure of her slim hands on his chest, how one was slowly moving up to cradle his cheek, that her cowl was dropping and he could feel heat beginning to rise from between her legs and his own body was responding to her proximity in ways he'd known about, but never _felt _before.

He grabbed the back of her head and tugged her mask down, and kissed her.

She tasted like longing and salt and warmth and sugar, her lips slipping against his as he groaned. Her teeth tugged his bottom lip and he opened his mouth eagerly, tipping her tongue with his, digging his fingers into her bandage cap. She went near-boneless against him and he took the opportunity to roll her on her back.

Her face was still half-covered, the now-mussed turban and other wraps preventing him from seeing what surely must be the beautiful lines of her jawbone and where her cheeks met her ears. And it was raining so hard it obscured what he could feel were thin-but-shapely lips. She pulled him down again and kissed hungrily, wrapping her legs around his waist, and his hand skimmed down her belly, instinctually snaking around to her backside as she lifted herself up slightly.

"This is wrong," she moaned into his mouth, fingers yanking on his hair as he groped, "Gods, you're still a…this is wrong, oh goddess it's so _wrong—_" Link couldn't disagree more. It didn't feel _wrong_, it felt good and hot and so very _right, _her body pressed to his and shivering. Navi had explained this might happen but dear Nayru above, she had skimped on the details of how _great _it felt. Then again, she was a fairy, so maybe she just didn't know, and…

Sheik flipped him onto his back and rolled her hips against his. And stars exploded across his vision, and he suddenly wanted her to do that exact thing again…but naked, and moaning his name in his ear as her hot cheek pressed against his and she buried him inside of her wet, silky…

And then the heat was gone.

"_Wha—_no! No no _no_!"

Sheik stood quickly (but much more ungracefully than before) began to pick up her needles, her mask already up and her ears nearly as crimson as her eyes.

"It was inappropriate," she snapped, looking down at him. "You should not have let me—"

"Oh, _I_ shouldn't have _let you_? And who was the one straddling me and staring like a—"

"You," she pointed at him, directly at the junction of his legs, "can barely control your body around _me_. What do you expect to do when you've got seven alluring Gerudo coming at you with—"

"I don't want a _Gerudo_, I want you—"

"You say that now, but you've hardly a taste of the women of the world, and if you think that face of yours won't attract them, you are sadly mistaken—"

"So you think I'm cute, huh?" he said smugly, and she sputtered as he continued, "Well, I think you're cute, too—"

"I am not _cute_, I am _ferocious—_"

He stumbled forward and grabbed her, pulling her mask down again and enjoying the way her breath caught in her throat. Then he kissed her again, softer, ran his tongue lightly along the curve of her cupid's bow, one hand gently encircling her slender waist. He was working on instinct and sheer enthusiasm but considering her reaction, he thought he was doing pretty good…er, _well_. The way her bottom lip trembled when he nibbled and sucked on it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

"Y-you need to s-stop, _oh fuck_—" she whispered as he palmed her breast, pressing down through the bandages, "oh goddess, _fuck_, stop now, s_top now_—"

"But why?" he whispered, tracing his other hand down her back, "Do you really want—"

And then his ear exploded in pain.

"F—_ouch_! My earring!"

Sheik shoved him off and stood up, panting, before throwing his bloody, violently-removed ear loop at his feet. She pulled a wallet from her boot and dropped it to the ground.

"There's a village over this hill. The potion master lives in the blue-roofed house. There should be enough in there for as much red potion as you need. Goodbye." She lifted her hand and disappeared in a flash.

"_NO! SHEIK!" _he roared, clutching the side of his head in a futile attempt to staunch the blood. "What the hell, Sheik?! Get _back_here! Sheik! _Sheik!_" He looked around wildly, trying to find any hint of her presence on the wind–the whisper of her voice, the flick of her gaze, even the scent of her hair. But she was gone, lost in the rain, and only the feathered kunai remained. "You forgot your fancy knife," he said helplessly, touching his lips briefly before stooping down to pick it up. "You might need it…."

By this time, Navi heard his yelling, and left her warm nest to check on him. When she saw his injuries, she flew in terrified circles around his head.

"LINK! What happened to you ear?! Are you _okay_?!" She bobbed desperately by his injury and cried out again at the bruises on his neck. "What happened to you, Link?!"

Link didn't answer for a moment, instead dropping his gaze to the kunai in his hand. It was odd that she left it behind, particularly one so unique and cared for. _It must be of great value to her_, he thought as he admired the pretty craftsmanship, noting that it felt perfectly balanced for his palm. And he liked the look of it, too; it was engraved with a scrolling leaf pattern along the edge, and a few words that said…

_To Link. We shall always meet again. _

And he smiled, bleeding ear half-forgotten.

"I think I fell in love, Navi," he said, running his finger across the edge of his new blade, before tucking it into his boot. Then he tipped his head back, and drank of the rain.


	15. Silence

_I know, I know-I'm terrible about keeping this version of the story updated. Enjoy!_

* * *

There was, Link could tell, a quiet to Sheik that extended far beyond normal Sheikah traditions. She told him, once, that she slipped in and out of names and titles as easily as she slipped in and out of the night, as all Sheikah were taught to do. That _Sheik_was what she was to _him_, serving as his song, and his shadow; but she had become many people to many others. She was once_Safia_, a young girl who assisted midwives in the desert, and once _Hani_, a smuggler boy who delivered refugees across Hyrule's border and into Labrynna. Sometimes she had held no name at all, living only as unseen knife in the same familiar dark, sharp and stabbing silver, carrying out unspoken duties and battling quietly against the Dark King. This was her onus before she became his guide–to hide, and help, and spread rumors of the great Hero's return.

And this was heavy, and full of risk; if caught, she'd be strung up in the desert sun. But this was _not _her silence, and though Link could not say why, he knew something greater slung itself across her back, and it had _all _and _nothing _to do with him.

She would often speak of histories, would tell him stories he'd never heard in the woods; and she would teach him songs, beautiful and lilting and enchanted with magic. He learned to attune to the beats between her words, her sentences; learned to listen not to the way she phrased her lectures but the way she paused between them. They were expectant, heavy with life; seeds planted upon his ears that would blossom into truths as lush as the Deku Sprout's newest branches. And so slowly, in the fleeting times they shared together, he learned to hear what she was not saying, to sing the songs she did not teach and to see the things that remained forever hidden.

_So what were you born?_ he one day asked in curiosity; thinking, _maybe_, she would like to talk. But Sheik only stared unflinchingly, over a fire that crackled below a spit of two rabbits as yellow and orange flickered across her face and hands.

And it was in those moments of _between _he truly learned her. She was practiced with grace, as all of the shadow-folk, but something subtler, too–almost a daintiness below the visage of warrior, something vulnerable, and something very scared, and young. It roused within him a protectiveness, a surge of courage, and stirred him to fight for her. She was not helpless–no, she was deadly, and he knew it well. But he came to realize that her abilities did not come easy for her, that perhaps she'd once been weak and little.

It was another night like before, yellow fire cackling with game turning on a spit, when the heaviness of her stillness aligned with the weight of her words. Link asked if she would ever take another name, or revert to an old one, when all this was said and done._No_, she responded, _Sheik _was her name, and would always be such, no matter what the people of Hyrule would call her.

_But why? _he inquired, eyes wide, and blue, and childish, not really expecting an answer and readying his ears to listen to the silence that was sure to follow.

_You are _naïve, she said, perhaps wryly, surprising him. _Sheik was my name, when you came to love me._


	16. Strength

Truth of the matter was that Sheik always liked Link best when he was angry and flushed, when he swung and stabbed at her uselessly with his sword. She liked him most when he missed his targets and when he nearly broke his bones trying to win at sparring. She liked him when he hadn't bathed in a week and his hair was matted and he still stayed out well into the night, hacking despondently at fence posts and invisible foes and occasionally, his fairy.

She liked everything untrained and undisciplined and untamed and raw about him, the tears that bled freely onto their clasped hands from child-wide blues when he looked to her for answers she could not give. _Why me, Sheik?_ he once cried halfway through a training session, _why me? _Right after, twenty huge swinging sacks of sand hanging from the rafters of the barn of Lon Lon Ranch, he tripped and hit and broke his lip. It spurted red onto his tunic and his hands, but there was something gorgeous in the way he wildly dodged the rest, something in the fire inside of him that roared up and blistered through the night.

_I think you know, _she answered when he turned to her and screamed the question again, livid and blazing and more alive than she'd ever seen him, _I think you know._

And she knew that she should have loved more of the man he was becoming, the man who'd already mastered his blade and bow. The man who cut a heroic form, with his sword and shield and righteous causes, who donned his courage as though it were armor. He was the man who would save her kingdom; the man her people looked to, more a figment than a person. But that wasn't what she loved of him, it was that red-faced little boy who screamed and fought back at her, covered in burn-scars and cuts, who sparked and sizzled and seethed. She loved the salt and vinegar of him, the blood and sour spit, everything he was before he turned into everything he needed to become.

Goddesses, she loved the kid he was inside.


	17. You

The thrum of blue light is beautiful, musical, _magical_, and makes joy blossom in your heart like morning-glory vines spinning up from the rich dark earth in the spring. And you're sore from pacing for days and tired from lack of sleep and you probably smell— wait, no, you actually _do_—but he won't notice or care. After all, he knows you've spent the last few days here, waiting for him to come back home to you.

The water in the lake rises as he lands, and he startles in happiness when he sees you. He runs to your side and takes your hand, looking down as water fills the Lake once more. _We did it, _he says quietly, sitting down and patting the grass beside him, _We did it together._

You don't know why he's saying _we_, because you were _here, _outside of the Temple, letting him fulfill his fate as you marched endlessly back and forth. _Do you think the Domain will thaw soon? _he asks, reaching down with cupped hands to take a drink. _We can visit when it does._

_Yes,_ you barely manage, too choked up to bother with something eloquent, _yes, I do._

He looks sublime in this moment, bathed in the sunrise's light and the glory of his triumph, and you can't help but marvel at the smile creeping across his face, as paint-drop fishes well up from the bottom of the Lake. You watch them stretch their fins and swirl beneath the water, open and free for the first time in years.

_Was it terrible?_ you ask cautiously, sidling up beside him and crouching, too damned curious not to ask. _Was it as treacherous as they say?_

_You haven't the slightest, _he replies, and you're taken aback by the sadness that colors his voice, _But we'll talk about it later. _He pulls you down and the two of you sit, admiring the purity of everything he's won. But there's a quiet burden resting on his shoulders, as if he's thinking of when he'll have to do this all again. And he _will _do it, you both know; he'll go back to his duty, and you'll go back to your frantic waiting, unable to eat or sleep or drink or breathe until he's made his way back to you. And if _this _one has left him bruised, the _next _will surely be worse, as he must travel into death and darkness unending that no human should ever have to see.

You think on this and stare into the water, until something cool presses into your palm and you look down. It's his Medallion, shimmering in the sun, the lacquered surface iridescent and bright, the same color as his eyes, blue and beautiful and rivaling the prettiest of ocean skies. _I'd like for you to keep it, _he whispers, and encloses your fingers with his own.

_But, why? You'll need the Sage's power—_

_I've already got it, _he interrupts, _the Medallion is symbolic_ _and besides, I…just want for you to have it. _He slips the chain over your head and into your wraps, where it rests right above your heart. _I saw a lot I never wanted to see in there, _he says, and there's a pain to his voice even though he's smiling, _but then I thought of you, and how you've shown me that shadows aren't something to fear._

_Link, I–_ but he cuts you off with an arm around your shoulder.

_Don't, _he whispers, _it's left me thirsty, but there's plenty water to be found._

His fingers curl around your veil and tug it down, and you do not pull away when he runs his eyes across your cheeks. You let him see your eyes and lips, your brow and chin, and though there's something haunted in his vision you know he is still _Link_; your friend and your love, your charge and your champion.

And so you lean into him, and he takes your lips in the light for the very first time.


	18. Warmth

_Been awhile. Some of these earlier chapters are getting slightly edited, but unlike Ordona Pumpkins, I'm not taking the story down. Enjoy._

* * *

_Have you heard the stories of the Hero?_

In crowded taverns on rainy, mud-smeared nights like this Link would sometimes hear conversation turn to rumors of a golden young lad fighting to set the kingdom right. They'd say this hero fought in the name of the crown and from the righteousness of his heart-although as liquor ran and bustles loosened and laughter grew in pitch, the rumors usually turned to bawdy songs of romance. Tonight was no different, the drunks singing silly and wrong- so very _wrong_\- of how this hero fought for the love and hand of the exiled Princess Zelda. He couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"This I know, from sources true-there is to be a wedding, with a feast for all the world! They will serve caviar and peafowl, and the grandest, _sweetest _cake-"

"A _wedding, _eh?" someone piped up, skeptical, and Link felt a rush of gratitude, "Let me _guess_, she will wear white, with-"

"Fragrant lilies in her hair," the first confirmed, "And he will look so handsome, in his shining silver armor, a plume of phoenix in his helmet-"

"And from just _whom _do you-"

"_Sources true."_

It always gave Link a whirling headache. Between the mountains and the fields, through the waters and the trees, he could not find a hint of the Princess. It had been months-ah, _years_-since he'd seen her last, and he didn't even know what she _looked _like now. Much less if she was someone he might want to love. Much less if he'd don feathers for her sake.

He drained his beer and called to the bartendress for a mug of something darker. Her eyes flashed with relief, and she nodded to him as she left to fetch it, abruptly ending her conversation with two Gerudo on the other side of the bar.

A group of carpenters and blacksmiths burst through the door, the stormy skies crackling behind them as they grinned and called to their friends across the room. Link watched as they joined the ruckus, and wondered if they'd add their voices to all the chatter, if in their heads they'd married him off to a girl he did not know. He imagined all their ridiculous fancies swelling up and splitting the tavern in two, exploding outward onto the streets and spilling them out in a booze-drenched deluge. Mostly, he imagined they talked about something besides his romantic life.

Because Link did not love Zelda. He _had _known her once, a whip-smart, wide-eyed girl, long before the loss of so many friends. But that was before he pulled the sword, before Ganondorf took over, and before he knew of…

In their earliest days when he still climbed trees in the Lost Woods looking for a friend he knew he would not find, Sheik followed him closely, intervening at the first hint of trouble. To this day he still could hear the sound of the clean crack of her fist on bone, her swift and elegant twist of a Wolfos' leg as her dagger sank into another dog's skull, and her subsequent yelling as she pointed furiously to his sword deposited on the far side of the forest glade. One day's giddy hunting lesson later he learned to snap joints with his bare hands, not quite par to her but good enough. _Never leave your weapons,_ she gasped that night, hips flush to his, stimulated. Somewhere, nearby, hidden, rosy fairies clinked their wings and wind curled about the branches of the forest trees.

"Here's your drink." The bartendress broke through his thoughts and leaned forward, the slopes of her breasts curving over her neckline, two pale moons.

"What do _you_ think of all this noise?" She asked, waving a hand. "Think there's a hero out there?"

Link coughed, and hunched over his mug.

"That's what they say," he said. _This _beer was black, bitter, and _much _better than the first two (or seven).

"They're all so occupied with how the Princess will look. Some of how she'll act." Link swallowed another gulp, hoping his silence would persuade her to go away. It didn't work. "What do _you _think?" And Link remembered the clever child he knew back then, dressed in rose-colored linen, skirts swishing as she eluded her nursemaid in Castle Town's market.

"She was pretty as a girl...er, well, so I've heard," he managed. "Probably like that."

"So, pretty?" She asked, suddenly intense, expectant. "Nothing of the queen she'll be?"

"I've no idea, really," he said, shrugging. "They say she was smart and kind…I'm sure she'll do fine."

"_Smart_ and _kind _won't rule a kingdom-how could someone who's been gone for so long even begin to _know_?"

At first, Link didn't reply. But eventually his eyes drifted down her arm, to her wrist, to her strong hand clutched around a pouch of Rupees.

"She's got her ways," he said, slowly. "People still in the Kingdom, but hidden."

"Oh, so _spies _on her people, hires goons who wait around watching folks until they get a whiff of the right sort of misery, sends them in with promises that they can fix everything if you'd just pass along some gossip or pocket this one paper next time you're in the collection house, extorts people for-"

"No, she just _watches,_ she waits, she doesn't-" He sucked in a breath, "And what would _you _do differently? Cobble together an army to send to their slaughter?"

"Not that," the girl said, so very soft, "But I wouldn't hide behind my people, either." Link looked up to her face. She had green eyes, the color of lichens.

Her words stuck in his head.

Sheik once told him that Zelda's spies stretched few and far across the country, worked on little motivation but faithfulness to their ruler and desire to bring her back to the throne. He had never picked one out of a crowd, as he had countless Gerudo spies or - even more obviously - Ganon's Hylian collaborators, whose greed rose from them like steam off of Moblin shit, and he took this as reassurance of their character. Spies who could blend in so seamlessly with ordinary people could not harbor the same cruelty, the same depravity, as he had seen in Ganon's minions.

Then again, he thought, he'd seen Sheik's knives, wondered of the throats they'd met. He groaned aloud in frustration. At least _his _job was simple enough in concept.

He thought of her again, of her brilliant fragile eyes, of the pretty face behind mask. Thought of the anxious way she picked her fingers, ragged with hangnails and excess skin and occasionally bitten to the point of blood.

Once, he told her it was a disgusting habit. She unwrapped one digit and bit down out of sheer irritation.

Link cracked a smile. Apart from Navi, the Sheikah's odd and erratic companionship had probably been the best thing about this entire ordeal. He had come to love her, his shadowy Sheikah friend.

In their present days when the nightmares swirled vivid color in his head, he often found solace in his ocarina, playing variations of the tunes he'd learned. From his thin bedroll he would drift between minuets and nocturnes, folksongs and lullabies, watching as the twilight's pale purple faded into velvety night. And sometimes he would look to the trees and see her watching in the dark with eyes brighter than the stars, as if his tunes had summoned her there. Gazes would lock and between them silent words would pass, until his eyelids dropped and he fell to sleep, and she would vanish by the morning.

_Why don't you stay around more? _he asked once. They were at Lake Hylia that day and standing over the fishing hole.

_You're too much of a child to understand, _she said simply, irritably. _Let's just go fishing._

_Bet I catch more than you, _he shot back as he brandished a baited pole towards her. She said nothing, merely her threw knife into the sparkling pond, speared three fish for dinner. He whistled, she flicked off his admiration-but he saw the way the corners of her eyes crinkled before she turned her head, pale eyelashes fluttering like wings and he knew she smiled.

Outside, the gales of wind rattled the windows, picked up pebbles and branches and leaves, some of the nails left over from the carpenters' earlier work on the roof repairs. One of the men produced a hand wrapped in bandages and held it up for everyone to see.

Link stared hard as he unwound the cloth and revealed a deep gnash, stitched crudely with Dodongo-gut thread. "Got careless with the Poes that hang around by the construction at night. So I've been moved off to the gardens." His friends looked fretful, but the workman's voice remained even. "They grow much better, now that the mountain's smoke has cleared." Calm settled over the other workers, until one shook his head and chuckled (_oh, Ichiro) _until they all fell into laughter. And all the conversations of this crowded place meshed into a tangle of lilies and dragons and legends and Poes and princesses, until he could only think: _They lie out of fear, but at least the flowers grow. _

He brought his head back up, and looked at them again. And smiling to himself, the Hero of Time raised his voice for all to hear.

"They say the hero _loves _to fish..."


	19. seeing

Sheik loved him, of _course _she loved him; and she was an idiot for it but she certainly wasn't the world's first fool. And for seven years of waiting, or was it a thousand, she'd stuffed it down, didn't let herself admit it, didn't let herself feel. And now he was here, and three temples in, and maybe, just maybe, they'd actually manage to pull this off, and maybe, just maybe, after it was done, her fantasy of tearing through the hills on their horses and seeing every corner of the country together might just come true. It was a lie–it always was, of course, but it was a good lie, and when when she'd teach him, as she always would, when their songs tied them in a little knot and she would always wonder: _can't you see, can't you see?_

* * *

_HELLO IT HAS BEEN LIKE A YEAR AND A HALF SINCE UPDATING_

_HOW ARE ALL OF YOU_

_I'll stop yelling now; sorry it is so short, I got this prompt on tumblr and am working on more LS! 3_


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